Pisa To Go
by Nutzkie
Summary: When the call comes in, Team Possible is off to Europe. But what exactly awaits them there? Just your average mission, you say? In this business, there's no such thing.
1. Rapunzle!  Paging Rapunzle!

**Required Legal Crapola:**

I don't own nuttin. K.P. belongs to Disney, and I'm not making anything off of this. 'Nuff said!

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**Foreword:**

This is a (hopefully) brief continuation of my story "Where Eagles Dare." My overall intent is for this piece to wind-up bridging the gap between that work and another that is still in the planning stages. Whether or not I actually pull it all off, of course, remains to be seen. By my current outline, this should be about two chapters in length, but I reserve the right to change my mind at any time. It's my story… I can do that!

In any case… take a look, leave a review, be kind, and rewind!

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**- Chapter One -**

Ask any high school student worth his or her salt, and they'll gladly explain to you the general principal of a meteorite. The physical equation of speed, friction and temperature is so elementary in its nature that anyone of average intelligence will find little difficulty in grasping its subtleties.

When _you_ are the meteorite, however, the equation quickly takes on entirely new levels of meaning.

Outside the protective bubble of the canopy, the entire world shone bright orange. A bright, blistering glow infused with a burning intensity, only to be sporadically broken by streaks of brilliant white as air molecules were ionized by the intense heat. It seemed as though the air itself was on fire as the duo plunged headlong toward the earth far below, their speed well into the hypersonic range.

For Kim Possible, it was a rare moment of wonderment. In all her globe-hopping travels she had been exposed to many weird and wonderful sights, but often found her self too busy duking it out with some muscle-bound good to even look up, let alone appreciate the view.

Now however, with Ron busy at the controls, and nothing to do but sit and wait, she could finally take a moment to simply observe, taking in every last detail of nature's spectacular light show.

She had always enjoyed fireworks; that much was for certain. Growing up, she would look forward to both Independence Day and the Middleton Days Festival like no other dates on the calendar. The intense combinations of color, light and sound captivated her imagination and sent her young spirit soaring like few other things could.

But such displays of patriotic fervor, however, were little more than overpriced matchsticks when compared to the scene she was now witnessing. The light was absolutely stupefying in its intensity, and even through the specially insulated glass of the canopy, the heat forced her to shy away. She found herself mesmerized by the display, the bubble-top canopy providing a grandstand view to the inner machinations of the cosmic furnace.

Then, all too soon, the show was over, the brilliant whites and oranges replaced by the dark blue sky of high altitude. The re-entry phase of their journey was over, and now it was time to return to the more mundane experience of conventional flight.

Their trip had taken them directly over the earth's northern pole, and now, as Sky Rat decelerated into the high supersonic range, the pair could see all of northern Europe spread out beneath them. From this altitude, one did not experience the sensation of motion. Instead, one felt as though they were hanging motionless in the sky, suspended by an invisible cosmic thread as the earth turned slowly beneath them. Gradually, the continent below them became larger, with geographic features such as mountain ranges growing clearer. Soon, the familiar boot-shaped image of the Italian peninsula loomed large in the windscreen, appearing inverted from its more familiar orientation on maps. Rivers began to emerge from the muddled browns and greens of the landscape, and the Tomcat shuddered with the force of a sonic boom as its speed dropped below Mach one.

"All right, then! Secure your tray table and bring your seat back forward." Ron called out as he executed a wide, swinging turn over the Ligurian Sea and drew a heading toward the Arno River. "I'm bringing us in."

Cinching her harness tight around her, Kim cracked a smile when she thought of what was happening. In the past, Ron had always been so awkward and hesitant on missions. The fear he always felt would manifest itself in a thousand different ways, working itself into his actions and mannerisms, resulting in the characteristic clumsiness that had all but became his trademark over the years. Sure, he had learned to overcome these fears, but that didn't mean that they weren't still there. It simply meant that he had developed an alternate set of responses for dealing with them.

But now, things were different. Ron still had issues with self-confidence, and his usual clumsy-streak was still very much present, but these were confined to the ground. All of that changed once he was in the air.

Once airborne, he became a completely different person. He was cool and confident, skilled and courageous, and through it all he scarcely seemed to break a sweat. He could execute advanced maneuvers with expert precision, and hold his own with the world's best. He was in his element: A natural-born pilot.

Bringing Sky Rat in with the ease of an old pro, Ron gently settled the massive fighter down onto the main runway of Pisa's Galileo International Airport, and taxied to a stop in front of the executive jet hangar. Within moments they were on underway once again, the ride that Wade arranged having been there to meet them.

"So what's the sitch here, Wade?" Kim asked, cueing the Kimmunicator on her wrist.

"Well, from my scans, it looks like the Seniors are going to use some sort of gravitational tractor beam." Wade informed his chief field operative. "The energy signatures I'm picking up seem pretty clear."

"All right, then… I guess we know how they plan to move the tower." Kim pondered aloud, quickly forming a mental picture of the situation. "Do we have a fix on their location?"

"Affirmative." Wade coolly admitted. "And I've really got to hand it to them this time. They've gone all out in the creativity department."

"Say again?" Kim questioned as the car rolled to a stop. "Just what do you mean by 'creativity?'"

"Their lair, Kim." Wade explained as the heroic duo stepped out of car and onto the street. "It's not so much a lair as it's a…"

"A blimp?" Ron asked, craning his neck upward to look at the large object floating overhead.

"Technically, it's a dirigible." Wade informed. "Scans show a definite internal framework."

"Yeah, yeah… To-may-to, to-mah-to." Ron groused. "Let's just get back to the airport so we can finish this thing and get home before Bueno Nacho closes."

"What are you talking about?" Kim questioned, finding herself quite surprised by Ron's sudden willingness to leave a mission incomplete.

"Uh, hello? Airport? Plane? Zap the big, floaty thing? Leave?" Ron sarcastically explained, thinking that it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ron, you can't just shoot it down." Kim insisted.

"I beg your pardon? We've got the most advanced air-to-air systems on the planet at our disposal. I can knock down Hindenburg Junior here in about three seconds, and that's if I stop for a soda along the way."

"Stop and think about this for a second, Ron." Kim suddenly commanded. "This is a populated area. If we shoot that thing down, it's gonna fall on innocent people."

"Ohhhhhh… right! I gotcha!" Ron sheepishly admitted before continuing.

"So what's the plan, then?" he asked, deferring to Kim's better judgment. He had learned that while he may be a top-notch pilot, he was still rather clumsy while on the ground. The cockpit was his domain, and Kim was his backup, but as soon as their boots touched terra firma, Kim was the one calling the shots.

"Simple," Kim replied matter-of-factly as she reached for the grapple on her belt. "We do this the old-fashioned way."

Stepping up to Kim's side and pulling his own grapple from its holster, Ron looked up at the large, cylindrical ship above them and was consumed by a sudden thought.

"You know what, Kim?"

"Hmmmm…"

"This sort of reminds me, it's been like forever since my mom fixed sausage for dinner."

"Ron!" Kim moaned, rolling her eyes in disbelief. "Is that all you ever think about? Finding food?"

"No way, KP." He replied with a smile. "I think about eating it too."

"Natch." She moaned again, not knowing how she hadn't seen that one coming. "Gastronomical issues aside, are we ready to go?"

"Game on, KP!" came Ron's enthusiastic reply. "Let's kick this pig!"

And with that battle cry, the two teens clicked their "retract" buttons, and were instantly zooming upward through the air.

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Hooded gray eyes looked down over the ancient city below, taking in the almost poetic beauty of it all. With all the color and style of a medieval fairy tail, the neat rows of tiled roofs stretched for miles before meeting the crystal blue waters of the Ligurian Sea, and at the center of it all was one of the worlds most famous landmarks: The legendary Piazza dei Miracoli and its signature tower. The scene was fitting of a masterpiece painting. It was the perfect setting…

…For _villainy._

"Soon…" the distinguished-looking old mad chortled as he leaned on his cane. "Soon the feeble politicians will grovel before me, begging for the right to cave to my demands." He laughed once again, reflecting on how flawlessly his latest plot had been executed so far.

His laughter was cut short by a distinct ringing sound that emanated from his pocket.

"Ahhh… As usual, the weaklings are right on schedule." He chuckled to himself as he pulled the cell phone from his jacket and placed the small device to his ear.

"Senior Senior Senior here, ready to fulfill all your ransoming needs." He joyfully stated, confident in his inevitable victory. His face quickly soured, however, once he heard the voice on the other end.

"I thank you for your concern, young man," he grumbled into the mouthpiece, "but I can assure you that we are quite satisfied with our current long distance service."

He hung up abruptly, wondering if his next plot should target the telemarketing industry.

"Junior!" he called out as he turned around. "Did you deliver the ransom demands as I instructed?"

"Of course, father." A well-tanned young man replied, not even looking up from the glossed pages of his fashion magazine. "I faxed them to the city hall people, just as you said."

"And how much did you demand?"

"A gazillion dollars."

"That's not a real number, Junior!"

"But it sounds so exciting."

Gray eyes glared at their owner's progeny, and an unspoken voice muttered an oath. Long had Senior Senior Senior dreamed of having his son one day take over what was quickly proving to be the new family business. But as time went by, however, the prospect of this seemed less and less likely. There was a sad fact to face, and that fact was that his sole offspring was a little more than just a few pixels short of a clear picture. Regardless of what the age-old metaphor may say, sometimes the apple falls a great distance from the tree.

Slumping his aged shoulders in resignation, the Senior patriarch made his way over to the far side of the cabin where a large ray gun-like device sat idle. Pressing a button on the console, a sliding panel opened to reveal a complex array of controls and display screens.

"Since it now seems that our terms will not be met," he thought aloud as he began the multi-step process of powering up the gravitonic cannon, "I might as well try out my newest toy."

"Sorry, but play time is officially over." A voice suddenly called out from the shadows along the far side of the cabin.

It was a voice that the elderly villain knew all to well.

"Ah, Kim Possible, my worthy adversary." Senior Senior Senior remarked as he turned around to face the teen heroine. "So our paths have crossed again, it would seem."

"Fitting, because I'm plenty cross right now." Kim retorted as Ron stepped up silently beside her. "So why don't you just be a good little villain and give up now."

The Senior patriarch simply laughed lightly at the remark.

"As much as I would love to honor your request, I'm afraid that your youth and skill is no match for my evil and treachery." He said, as two hulking figures stepped out of the shadows to flank the heroes on either side.

"Have you met my body guards…?"

"Evil and Treachery?" Kim asked, obviously un-amused by the well-choreographed display. "Yeah, we've been introduced."

"Well hey, I haven't." Ron remarked, walking over to one of the refrigerator-shaped gentlemen and offering his hand. "Hi! I'm Ron Stoppable. I'm the sidekick!"

The man simply took the offered hand and squeezed… _hard._

"Gaaaaahhh… Yikes! That's some grip you've got there killer!" Ron cried, pulling his hand away as quickly as he could. "KP, maybe you should take this one. I don't think he likes me too much."

"Nah, ya' think?" came Kim's sarcastic reply.

The two teens took defensive stances and readied themselves for battle, eyeing their respective opponents warily.

Treachery struck first with a right-hand jab that Kim easily sidestepped. This was then followed by a left cross that she was able to duck underneath, landing a blow of her own to the goon's exposed midsection, doubling him over as the wind was driven from his lungs. She smiled as she realized that to spite the immaculate suits and ominous nicknames, these two were no different than the hired muscle that she was so used to facing. They were just big slabs of beef with far more braun than brains.

Taking a moment to glance over her shoulder, Kim had to admit that Ron was doing surprisingly well. Where previously he would have been running around, screaming like a sick chicken, now he was actually standing his ground and holding his own.

She smiled as she thought about the past three months that Ron had been away. At the time, the ordeal had seemed almost unbearable for her, but looking back, it was all like a bad dream: An agonizing experience that quickly fades the moment one awakes.

And besides, she had to admit, the benefits of the ordeal were totally spanking.

Ron may have been trained as a pilot, but flying wasn't the only thing his instructors had taught him. In addition to aerial skills, he had learned basic hand-to-hand combat techniques and new tactics for evasion.

However, that didn't explain his new found banter skills.

"Evil, huh?" he asked, slowly backing-up before the hulking goon's advance. "Be honest now… That's a stage name, isn't it?"

Evil said nothing, lashing out with a roundhouse punch that Ron artfully dodged.

"I mean, c'mon," Ron continued, "nobody has a name that's _that_ perfectly suited. Throw us bone here, fer Pete's sake!"

"It's Lamar." Treachery spoke up, not looking up from his battle with Kim.

"Lamar?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Dude, that's like the most twisted name I can think of for a villain."

Lamar blanched, and abruptly spun around to face his partner, completely disregarding his fight with the blond-haired boy before him.

"Well as long as we're on the subject of names, Mister 'I-Can-Keep-A-Secret,'" he growled, glaring at his so-called comrade, "let's be sure to include full disclosure, _Melvin!"_

"Melvin?" Kim asked in shock. "I'm fighting a guy named _'Melvin?'"_

"I take it back." Ron stated flatly. _"That's_ the most twisted villain name I can think of. No wonder you guys use aliases."

"You want full disclosure?" Melvin shouted, getting up into Lamar's face. "Let's talk about that time last week when you got confused brushing your teeth and grabbed the Preparation H by mistake!"

"_Eewwww!"_ the two teens winced in unison.

"That's it! It's go time!" Lamar responded, lunging for Melvin's throat. An instant later, both men were obscured in a frenzied flurry of punches, kicks and miscellaneous gouges.

Senior Senior could only place his face in his hand and sigh as he watched the unfolding spectacle. He always made it a point to by the best, and yet somehow, this was still what he wound up with. Sometimes, he had to admit, it really didn't matter if one paid retail.

"So, I guess good help is hard to find, huh?" Ron casually asked, stepping up beside the octogenarian outlaw.

"Yes, unfortunately this is true." Senior sighed, a look of total resignation displayed across his face.

Then, his expression suddenly changed to a sinister smile.

"But you can always count on family." He added with a chilling tone.

"Junior!" he shouted to his son. "Get them!"

"Get them what?" Junior replied, obviously oblivious to the situation. "You mean like a cold beverage or something? Shouldn't we be having one of the servants do that?"

"Ooh! You got another one of those juice boxes?" Ron broke in with barely-contained enthusiasm. "I so loved the one from last time."

"Allow me to rephrase." Senior growled, his patience obviously growing threadbare. "Attack!"

"Well then why did you not just say so?" Junior asked as he began his charge.

"Ron!" Kim cried out as the superficial super-villain advanced. "I'll handle Junior! You get that ray thingy!"

"On it, KP!" Ron replied, dashing toward the still-exposed control panel.

With laser-like focus, he made his way across the cabin, eyes locked on his target. So much so, in fact, that he failed to notice the cane that the elder Senior had extended into his path.

For Ron, it was a strange sensation. One second he was sprinting across a beautifully tiled floor, the image of his objective locked clearly in his mind. The next second, he was airborne, sailing headlong toward that same objective, with no apparent means of stopping himself or altering his trajectory.

With the laws of physics being what they are, his impromptu flight quickly reached its inevitable conclusion, and he slammed head first into the controls, leaving a large dent and several shattered display screens to mark his passing. Sparks flew from the demolished controls and tendrils of smoke wafted from access panels near the base of the unit, indicating that it was now permanently out of commission.

"Mission accomplished." Ron managed to weakly call out before collapsing to the floor, the last remnants of consciousness fleeing his mind like cockroaches before a floodlight.

"Ron!" Kim cried out at seeing her boyfriend go down in a heap. She began to run toward his fallen form… And was abruptly stopped by two strong arms wrapping themselves around her, pinning her own arms to her sides.

"You've got exactly three seconds to let me go, Junior," she growled over her shoulder, "before you wind up with a voice that only dogs can hear!"

"So what is it exactly that you are saying" Junior asked playfully, clearly enjoying the sudden turn of events.

"I'm saying PUT ME DOWN!!!" she screamed, violently squirming against her restraints.

It was then that she noticed the elder Senior opening the cabin door.

"Uh… on second thought," she stammered, "maybe I'm being a little hasty about things."

"Actually, I think you make a very good point." Junior replied as he walked briskly toward the opening, affording the struggling heroine a panoramic view of the city far below.

He paused briefly in the opening, making sure that she had adequate time to absorb the scene, and its implied significance.

"Now remember Miss Possible," Senior Senior chuckled as he glanced out the gaping maw of the door, "it's not the fall you need to worry about. It's the sudden stop at the end."

And with that final rejoinder, she was out, tumbling end over end in a manner that seemed it would never cease, watching as an alternating sequence of earth and sky flashed before her eyes with dizzying speed. Her long, auburn locks whipped into her eyes, obscuring her vision, and the roar of the wind in her ears was positively deafening.

Mentally fighting through all of the disorientation, she knew that she had to act, and act fast. Although the Senior's dirigible had been high up, it hadn't been _that_ high, and she only had a precious few seconds to save herself before she made a major impact on the world, so to speak.

Years of cheerleading experience were quick to cut in, and she instinctively extended her left arm in an attempt to stabilize her fall. The move had the desired effect, and within a second, her violent tumble had become a steady freefall. Rolling onto her stomach, she scanned the city below, and quickly zeroed in on the most prominent landmark she could find… The _tower._

In a flash, she had drawn her grapple and taken dead aim. A strong squeeze of the trigger sent steel talons streaking through thin air, and over the roar of the wind, she could hear the distinctive and satisfying sound of a metallic "clank" as the grapple found its mark. She tightened her grip and braced herself for what she knew would come next.

The line of the grapple snapped taut, straining the high-strength, Kevlar-based cord to its limit. Kim hung on for dear life as she was suddenly pulled into a graceful, sweeping arc beneath the tower's ominously tilting precipice. Centrifugal force was in control of the sitch now, as her momentum carried her skyward, arcing back over the famous structure, affording her one more look at the picture-postcard beauty that was this icon of renaissance Italy.

Then, she was falling once again, the ground rushing up to meet her. A flick of her thumb activated the grapple's "retract" feature, and she suddenly found herself hanging like a piñata, swaying gently in the breeze, just six inches off the ground. It was a heck of an entrance, even _she_ had to admit.

Completely ignoring the crowd that was now quickly coalescing around her, she dropped down to the ground and activated the Kimmunicator on her wrist, recalling Wade's smiling image once again.

"Hey Kim!" he jovially called out upon seeing her image on his monitor. "Met with any success yet?"

"Yeah, we can pretty well call the plot busted," Kim tersely stated, casting an eye toward the retreating form of the Zeppelin, "but now we've got a whole new sitch to deal with."

"Ooh… Complications?" Wade inquired, readying his fingers to work another round of their patented techno-magic.

"Affirmative. The Seniors have Ron, and I think I've got a good idea of where they're headed."

"Sounds like you're gonna need a ride to Senior Island?"

"Please and thank-you."

"Don't mention it… Ride in five! Wade out." And with that, the transmission ceased.

Lowering her hand to her side and gazing up at the now empty sky, Kim heaved a sigh that was equal parts dejection and worry.

"Hang in there, Ron." She silently said to herself. "I'm coming for you."

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**Author's Notes:**

_Geographical Background:_ While there's hardly a person alive who hasn't heard of Pisa's famous leaning tower, there's far more to the city than just the world's most famous engineering failure.

Located on the west coast of Italy in the region of Tuscany, it's situated along the banks of the Arno River, a short distance away from the coast. At the city's western outskirts, one will find the mouth of the Arno River: The point where it empties into the Ligurian Sea. (An offshoot of the Mediterranean Sea.)

_Galileo Airport:_ Pisa's International Airport. Named for the renown 16th century Italian Astronomer and Physicist _Galileo Galilei,_ Galileo Airport is the primary port of entry for individuals visiting the Tuscan region of Italy.

Although he is perhaps most famous for perfecting the design of the telescope, and for his subsequent conflicts with the Catholic Church, Galileo is also noted for having conducted a series of experiments involving acceleration and gravity. By dropping a series of different-sized wooden balls from the top of Pisa's world-famous tower, he was able to determine that mass, not volume, determines an object's acceleration.

_Dirigible versus Blimp:_ It's a minor distinction that Wade makes here, but nonetheless a correct one. A blimp, by technical definition, is just a large, cylindrical-shaped bag filled with a lighter-than-air gas to provide lift. Fitted with engines for propulsion and a crew compartment, it's really little more than an aerodynamically correct balloon.

Dirigibles, on the other hand, have a rigid internal framework, usually fabricated from a lightweight metal such as aluminum. The lifting gas is carried in a series of gas cells, which are large, cylindrical bags, mounted in the upper sections of the framework. The lower sections can then be used to carry either passengers or freight. In this way, a dirigible can possess a much greater payload capacity than its non-rigid cousins.

_Piazza dei Miracoli:_ "Plaza of Miracles" when translated, this is the name traditionally given to the grounds of the Pisa Cathedral. The plaza is a large, open space consisting of both paved and grassed areas, and encompassing the four main elements of the cathedral complex: The _Duomo,_ as the Cathedral itself is known, the _Baptistery,_ the _Camposanto,_ or churchyard cemetery, and the _Campanile:_ The technical name for the world-famous tower.

Well folks, that pretty much does it for chapter one. Another plot has been foiled, but at what cost? What do the Seniors have in store for Ron? Will Kim be able to rescue him once again? Do you really need to ask that question? Who invented the cotton gin? Why don't I just shut up now?

Everyone take care, now… and I'll see you with chapter two!

Nutzkie… 


	2. Evil, But With Style

**Required Legal Crapola:**

I don't own nuttin. K.P. belongs to Disney, and I'm not making anything off of this. 'Nuff said!

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**- Chapter Two -**

Darkness gave way grudgingly to unfocused form as a symphony of pain played through his temples and down his spine. Light was experienced as a sharp stinging sensation, driving the points of a thousand needles into his frontal lobes, and all the world seemed blurred and without definition.

Blinking only seemed to make the situation worse at first, but slowly, agonizingly slowly, the haze began to lift, and the world became clear once again.

"Father, I think he is awake." A familiar voice called out from a position that seemed to be right above him.

"And he has some serious issues with the morning breath." The voice added with just a hint of condescension.

"Hey, the fine art of naco-eating isn't without its drawbacks, okay!" Ron said defensively, trying to sit up, and quickly being forced back down by the renewed rush of agony that coursed through his head.

"Ah, Mister Stoppable. It is good to see that you are finally awake." Another voice spoke out from the periphery of Ron's vision. "After that nasty fall, your condition had left us somewhat concerned."

"Yeah, it's nice to know that the villains are so concerned with… _wait…_ did you just call me _'mister?'"_

"Indeed. I find it is most proper to extend professional courtesy when dealing with my arch foes, wouldn't you agree?"

"Wow, dude! Not only are the bad guys remembering my name now, they're actually giving me _props!_ This is badical!"

"Yes, well… That having been said," Senior Senior Senior continued, "I feel it is only fair to inform you that your presence here will play a part in our newly-revised evil plan."

"Oh man," Ron whined, his enthusiasm quickly fading, dreading the implications of this revelation. "So what are you gonna do to me? Stretch me on the rack? Thumbscrews? Give me a bamboo manicure up to my knuckles?"

Father and son both blinked repeatedly in mutual confusion.

"Well, n-no." Senior Senior Senior finally stammered after regaining his voice. "That is not at all part of our plan. That is…"

"Sick beyond belief." Junior completed.

"Yes… Thank you, Junior." Senior sighed before turning his attention back to Ron. "You see Mister Stoppable, your role in our new plan will be to remain confined here until such time as Miss Possible arrives to affect the traditional heroic rescue attempt."

With the tremendous throbbing of his temples now having greatly subsided, Ron chanced to raise his head and look around. His expression quickly grew puzzled when he recognized his surroundings.

"You're locking me up in your rec room?" he asked plaintively.

"Unfortunately, yes." The elder Senior replied. "I feel I must apologize for the accommodations. The dungeon is currently being remodeled."

"Remodeled?" Ron asked incredulously, wondering if the blow to his head had somehow affected his hearing.

"Styled on the latest issue of Better Lairs and Villainy." Junior enthusiastically informed. "You should see the curtains that father picked out for the…"

"Not now, Junior!" the Senior patriarch growled, cutting off any further discussion on the topic. "We must take our leave now, and prepare for the arrival of our arch foe."

"Ooh, are we sure she is coming?" Junior inquired as he dutifully followed his father out of the room.

"Of course she is, Junior." The old man replied. "The hero always attempts a rescue. Haven't you been reading the evil textbooks that I have been…?"

The characteristic "woosh" noise of a pneumatic door obliterated the remainder of the conversation. Taking a moment to steady him self, Ron sat up slowly, allowed his head to clear, and then rose shakily to his feet. The unsteady movement, combined with the sudden silence, was enough to rouse Rufus from the comfort of his protective pocket, and the tiny creature quickly skittered to his usual perch on his owner's shoulder.

"Aw man, Rufus. This is seriously heavy." Ron lamented to his small friend as he began to pace the room anxiously. "Trapped in the Senior's evil rec room. For days… for weeks… for months… FOREVER! _Coolio!_ They've got _pinball!"_

Moments later, the whole of the room was filled with a cacophony of bells, buzzers and electronic beeps.

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"Thanks for the lift, Mister Earhart!"

"It was my pleasure, Kim. Especially after what you did for me during that tropical storm last year."

"Oh, it was totally no big. Anybody could have made a functioning radio compass from two rolls of duct tape, an empty soda can, a flashlight and a 'Grateful Dead' tee shirt."

"We're over the drop zone now. Good luck!"

"Thank you, and… uh… thank you!"

And with that parting gesture, she was out, freefalling through over 5,000 feet of air column, flaring her limbs outward to regulate her descent. At 2,000 feet, she checked the built-in altimeter on her wrist Kimmunicator, and a thousand feet after that, she reached behind herself and pulled twin control cables from their concealed compartments.

The fabric of her backpack instantly fell away, giving way to a pair of knife-like wings that suddenly sprung forth from each side. A small but powerful jet engine ignited, and she was off to the races, zooming across the wave tops at masthead level. Staying low to avoid detection by any early-warning systems that the Seniors may have installed, it took several minutes for her to approach the island, pulling up and landing softly on a secluded beach when she did. Moments later she had stashed the jetpack, organized her gear, and was ascending the steep slope toward the compound that sat astride the nearby mountaintop. The Seniors were nothing if not predictable, she reasoned, and this was the most likely place for them to be holding Ron. Her eyes narrowed and her teeth ground hard against each other as she thought about what she might do to the bumbling billionaire and his idiot offspring if her partner had been at all injured by the ordeal.

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Hooded gray eyes passed intently over a bank of video monitors, scanning carefully for the one thing their owner knew was bound to happen. It was something as predictable as the sunrise and as natural as flowers in spring: His arch foe, the great Kim Possible, was coming.

It was at times like this that he was glad he had purchased the elaborate security system, (with professional installation, of course.) Linked to an expansive network of cameras and remote sensors placed strategically throughout the island, nothing could escape its ever-vigilant powers of observation. The old man grinned as he surmised that not even so much as a mosquito could infiltrate his island fortress without his knowledge.

Also, the system had some pretty decent television reception to boot. The elderly villain smiled again as he cast his eyes to the episode of "Who Wants To Be A Trillionaire?" that was currently playing on one of the screens, courtesy of a stolen cable connection, of course.

He was just about to politely inform the latest contestant that Reykjavik was in fact the capital of Iceland, and that the contestant himself was a thoroughly brainless idiot, when an alarm bell diverted his attention to other matters. His eyes narrowed and his grin widened as his eyes fell on the upper-left most monitor, and the familiar form of his long-time nemesis making her entrance through one of the building's many first-story windows.

"Ah, so the game is finally afoot." He laughed lightly to himself. "My worthy adversary has made her arrival. Now, it is up to me to be a proper host and see that she receives the appropriate reception."

"Again with the getting of the beverages?" Junior broke in, being his usually clueless self.

"No Junior!" the gray-haired evildoer scowled. "What I mean is that I must… Oh, never mind!"

Without another word, he turned back to the console before him and pressed a red, ominous-looking button.

At that moment, in another wing of the house, a hidden panel in the floor suddenly snapped open, and a certain redhead felt her stomach surge into her throat as she plunged into the unexpected void.

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Kim sat up slowly, gingerly rubbing the spot on her temple where she had just taken a particularly nasty knock. Wincing at the stinging sensation this created, she resolved avoid that particular action from now on, and contemplated that this little bump truly had "bruise" written all over it.

Slowly rising to her feet, she allowed a moment for her mind to clear before taking stock of the sitch. She was near the edge of a door-less room, standing in ankle-deep water. The rough walls were hewn from the solid rock of the mountain, and the entire place seemed both vaguely and disturbingly familiar. She took a few steps toward the center of the room to better see the overhead opening through which she had fallen, when an ominous gurgling sound made her stop dead in her tracks.

Suddenly, she had a much better idea of why this place seemed so familiar to her.

"Greetings, Miss Possible." The familiar voice of the Senior Senior Senior came over a loudspeaker hidden somewhere in the craggy recesses of the pit. "I trust that you will be pleased to find I have made certain improvements to my…"

"Mutant octopus?" Kim quipped, not being surprised in the least as the huge, multi-armed creature suddenly reared up from a recessed grotto in the center of the pit. "I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating: You have _the_ most whacked hobbies."

"What can I say?" Senior opined. "I am but a simple billionaire in need of diversion."

"Ever consider stamp collecting?" Kim sarcastically suggested, artfully dodging a strike from a hideously oversized tentacle.

"No, but since you have mentioned it, I shall take it under advisement. Now since you seem otherwise occupied, I shall leave you to your struggle in customary villain fashion."

"So considerate of you." Kim deadpanned, flipping over another strike by the mutated cephalopod.

The grotesque creature roared mightily and struck out again and again. Dodging each attack in turn, Kim leapt from rock to rock within the subterranean cavern, calculating each jump to bring her closer to the giant beast. It was a strategy of maneuver that she was adopting, hoping to get inside the creature's defensive zone, and attack the one area that she knew to be its Achilles heel: It's armpits.

Three more skillfully timed jumps and she was in, landing with cat-like grace on one of the creature's shoulders. (Do octopi even _have_ shoulders?) As the beast roared its objection, she crouched down, reached underneath the great writhing appendage, and initiated the most aggressive tickle attack that she had ever launched. (Well, at least since that time last month in Ron's tree house.)

The reaction she received, however, was not the one that she was expecting.

Instead of collapsing into a writhing ball of slimy laughter, the creature simply growled menacingly. An instant later, a sharp blow from a large tentacle sent her careening across the cavernous space, bouncing and rolling to a stop against the far wall, not far from the spot where she had started.

Picking herself up once again, she began to realize what the varicose villain had meant by his use of the term "improvements."

She also realized that it was time to bring in some reinforcements.

Retreating behind the protection of a nearby boulder, she keyed the Kimmunicator on her wrist, and the cherubic image of Wade appeared only an instant later.

"Hey Kim. How goes it?" he inquired, looking up from one of the many monitors that seemed to mushroom from the walls of his workstation.

"Could be better." Kim informed. "I made it into the main building, but I've got another eight-armed sitch on my hands."

"Mutant octopus?"

"Natch."

"Have you tried the 'tickle attack?'"

"Affirmative."

"And?"

"No go. The Seniors seem to have developed an actual learning curve."

"All right then… I'll see if I can come up with a plan 'B.' …Get back to you in a few moments."

"I hope I have that long." Kim remarked, dodging and rolling away from another well-placed strike. _"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in a Jules Vern novel?"_ she silently wondered as she ducked behind another boulder, continuing her high-stakes game of hide-and-seek with the multi-armed monster above her.

-------------------------------------------

Observing the raging battle from the comfort of his surveillance center, the stately villain smiled to himself. The modifications he had made to his Octopus's nervous system had certainly paid off, clearly thwarting his arch foe's attempts to repeat her earlier victory. Now, in a desperate attempt to regroup, she was running scared, playing a decidedly defensive game, rather than her more characteristic offensive approach.

Still, Senior Senior Senior wasn't celebrating victory just yet. Experience can be a harsh teacher, and in all of his previous encounters with the fiery redhead, he had learned to never count her out of a fight. She had a strange way of regularly pulling victory from the jaws of defeat, and a small voice in the back of his mind was now telling him that this time would be no different.

"Junior!" he called out to his ever-present progeny. "Go and fetch our prisoner for me. I feel it will soon be time for the climactic stage of our plan."

"Oh, so now I am your prisoner fetcher?" Junior asked in exasperation.

"Yes, you are." Came his father's stern reply.

"Oh… Well it would be nice if I was to be informed of these things." He said with a shrug before disappearing down a corridor at the back of the room.

Senior Senior Senior could only sigh in resignation before turning back to the security monitors, resolving to someday have his DNA checked.

-------------------------------------------

Dancing about wildly atop the cold, glass surface, a small pink whirlwind chattered and gesticulated, directing attention to a particular object on the multicolored surface below him.

"Yeah, I see it Rufus!" Ron acknowledged, his face taut and contorted with concentration. "Just let me get the multi-ball first! Then I'll go after that triple bonus box!"

He was truly on his "A" game this day, he thought as he smiled to himself. His fingers danced against the controls with the speed and grace of a butterfly, and the strength of his concentration could have bent steel as he focused all of his energy onto the brilliant, mirrored orb before him. He was the master of this magical spheroid, bending and extending its trajectory to his will, manipulating physics itself to accomplish his goals.

He was so hypnotized by motions of this silver sphere that he didn't even notice when the door to the room opened for the first time in over an hour.

"Okay sidekick-type person. Father wants us both in the main room with something that resembles haste." Junior informed as he entered the room. Much to his surprise, however, his prisoner failed to respond in any way.

"Uh, _hello!"_ Junior called out once again, raising his voice slightly. "I said we will be needing to move it, as in quickly!"

"Huh? Oh yeah, right." Ron finally replied without breaking his attention away from his ongoing game. "Just give me a sec, okay?"

Junior was now becoming more perturbed by the moment. "No" was a word he was simply not used to hearing, and to hear it from a person who by all means should be jumping at the chance to leave… Well, let's just say that even his own limited intellect could grasp the thundering lack of logic in this situation.

"I'm sorry. Apparently I was not entirely clear before." He said, stepping up directly beside Ron. "My meaning was to say NOW!"

"Alright! Alright! Just hold your horses, already!" Ron shot back, apparently just as perturbed by the interruption as Junior was about being snubbed. "I just set the high score record, so once I'm done, we'll go!"

"Well forgive me for interrupting your game with the offer of freedom," Junior sarcastically replied, "but when father says to… wait… did you just say 'high score?'"

"You know it, dude."

"But… but that's impossible!" Junior shrieked in his characteristic high-pitched, nasally whine. "You can't have the high score! Only I can have the high score! Me… me… ME!"

"'Fraid not, my friend." Ron sing-songed in response. "The Ron-dog is the new king of this table."

"_Hurk…_ Hail to the king!" Rufus squeaked, holding his tiny paws aloft in a symbol of triumph.

"Oh really? Well we'll just see about that!" Junior growled as he roughly shoved Ron aside. "This is _my_ table, and if anyone is going to be the king here, then it will be _me!"_ He briskly dropped a coin into the slot and began his turn.

"Oh yeah? Well I've just got one question for you then." Ron responded, picking himself up and taking a position beside the table.

"Yes, and what's that?"

"Does George Hamilton know that your tan is better than his?"

-------------------------------------------

This was starting to get seriously old.

For the last several minutes Kim Possible had been fighting a losing battle of avoidance with Senior Senior Senior's latest creation, and they were minutes that had seemed like hours. With every hiding place she found, the animalistic abomination would simply trace her position and launch another attack, forcing her to seek refuge once again. It was a process of repetition that she was quickly growing tired of.

She had begun to wonder if Wade had actually forgotten about her predicament by the time she heard the familiar four-tone beep. The instant it normally took her to respond was cut in half by her lightning-quick reaction.

"Make it count, Wade!" she implored, moving to avoid yet another blow from her grotesque opponent.

"I did some research," Wade quickly informed her, "and it turns out that cephalopods are extremely sensitive to acoustic disturbances in the frequency range of forty to fifty kilohertz."

"Translation, please?"

"He doesn't like high-pitched noises."

"Well who does?"

"No, I mean he _really_ doesn't like them."

"Does he not like them enough to get me out of this sitch?" Kim inquired, getting ready to move as the creature prepared another assault.

"I think so."

"Well, let's skip the suspense and tell me what I need to do then?"

"Just hold out your Kimmunicator. I'll do the rest from here."

"You called it, Wade." Kim said as she thrust her left hand forward, aiming the small device on her wrist directly at the barbaric beast before her.

"Activating external audio." Wade said as his fingers raced once again over his keyboard. "Initializing acoustic output… NOW!"

Kim momentarily flinched, bracing herself against the auditory assault that she knew was coming. Her expression of distress quickly morphed into one of confusion, however, when she realized that she was hearing nothing. The entirety of the grotto had fallen into utter silence, with not even the roaring of the monster disturbing the stillness of the air.

She was just about to ask Wade if his machines were even on when she chanced to look up at her opponent, and her confusion deepened even further.

The octopus had ceased any and all aggressive behavior, and was now cowering against the far wall of the grotto, shaking violently and not looking at all well. Kim could only stare in wonderment as the creature held this position for several seconds longer, then, with an anguished roar, surged forward and dove headlong into the deep chasm from which it had come, leaving not so much as a solitary bubble to mark its passing.

"You could have told me that was going to be beyond the range of human hearing." Kim informed Wade with a knowing smile as she brought the Kimmunicator back up to her face.

"Well, I didn't want to spoil the surprise." Wade replied with an equally-knowing smile. "Anything else while I'm on the line?"

"Thanks. I'm good." Kim replied, pulling her grapple from its holster. "I'll check in once I've got Ron."

"Roger that. Wade out." And the smiling image disappeared from the screen.

The silence of the grotto was now broken once again, this time with the explosive "pop" of the firing grapple. Moments later, a purple and black clad figure emerged from the depths to stand triumphantly upon terra firma once again. Checking her surroundings carefully, Kim started off down the corridor, ever mindful of traps, and counting the ways that she'd like to get even with the two people who had put her in this sitch in the first place.

-------------------------------------------

"Oh, c'mon! No way that's a legal shot! Is the 'tilt' sensor even _working_ on this thing?"

"Yes it is, and you are distracting me, thank you very much!"

"Well I'm just saying that looked suspicious is all."

"I'm sorry, but game on means mouth _shut!"_

"Alright… alright! Don't get your Speedos in a square knot!" Ron said, waving his hands defensively in front of him. "Like geez… What's got you tweaked?"

"I am so not tweaked."

"Dude, you reek tweaked."

"Alright, fine! Do you want to know what has me tweaked? It's that some bumbling sidekick can just waltz into my house and outscore me on my own machine! This is the one thing I have going for me right now and you're not going to take it!"

"Oh, uh, really… You don't say?" Ron stammered, somewhat taken aback by the sudden admission.

"Father always says that he knows what's best for me." Junior continued to rant, his actions at the machine becoming more violent and erratic. "He says I need to become a proper villain. That I will someday take over the family business. Does he even notice that I do not share his dreams? Does he even care about my desire to become an international pop sensation? No, would be the answer you are looking for! It's like he doesn't even see me sometimes! I mean, _hello!_ I'm right _here!"_

Junior seemed on the verge of tears by the time Ron slid silently up behind him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He wasn't sure what to do in this sitch, but he felt compelled to say something.

"Your table has some good action to it."

"_Something relevant, you moron!"_ He mentally chastised himself as soon as the words had left his mouth. He quickly redirected himself to bring the conversation back on track.

"That's pretty rough, there. Your dad not understanding you and all that." He consoled Junior. "I know just how you feel."

"_Pfft…_ And just how could you ever know what my life is like?" Junior asked indignantly. The skinny, blond boy before him was seeming pretty presumptuous right now.

"Your life? I wouldn't." Ron admitted with a shrug. "But I think I know a thing or two about rejection and not fitting in. It's basically my life's story, after all."

Junior felt compelled to nod in agreement. One of the few pieces of evil training materials that his father had given him, and that he had actually _read,_ was a background profile of the two heroes who his father maintained were their greatest foes. He had speed-read through most of the material, but had retained just enough of it to realize that the boy wasn't too far off base with his assertion.

"It's just so difficult sometimes." Junior woefully admitted, lounging back with his elbows on the glass to of the machine, his game all but forgotten. "It just feels like I'm living in a world where I'm invisible: Like I'm standing in a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one is even bothering to look up."

"Welcome to the club, my friend." Ron replied, casually rocking back onto his heels and sticking his hands in his pockets. "We've got jackets."

Junior cracked a slight smile. With all the time he spent alone on the island, with no one but his father and the servants for company, it was nice to be talking to someone who he could actually, in some smal way, relate to.

"You want a cold soda?" he asked. "I think there's a few in the mini bar."

"You have a mini bar?" Ron asked enthusiastically. "That's badical!"

"I suppose it is, in a way. We have some microwave quesodias as well, if you're interested."

"Dude… Were you like born in a manger, or something?"

-------------------------------------------

The air of the room reverberated with a resounding metallic "clang," and he knew that the moment had come. Slowly, exuding an aura of distinguished grace and aristocracy, he turned to face the figure who had just reduced a nearby steel security door to a well-bent piece of scrap metal.

"Miss Possible, I presume." Senior Senior Senior stated flamboyantly, sweeping his arm broadly in front of himself for effect.

"Skip the formalities!" Kim growled, her eyes burning holes into the aged outlaw. "You've got three tries to tell me where Ron is, and the first two don't count!"

Senior sighed dejectedly. To spite all the effort he put into making sure his evil plots were properly produced and implemented, there were just some people who refused to slow down and appreciate the subtle nuances involved.

"Very well. Since you insist:" he finally replied, gesturing toward the door behind him. "Junior, bring in the prisoner!"

All that was missing from the scene was the chirping of crickets as silence reigned throughout the room. The distinguished villain's eyes narrowed as he silently lamented another dramatic moment shot to heck.

"Junior! In case you were not listening, I said _'bring in the prisoner!'"_

Once again, silence was the only response, and Senior Senior couldn't help but forlornly burry his face into his hand.

"Good help is hard to find, it would seem." He observed, seeking desperately to turn things in his favor by making light of the situation.

The expression Kim wore, however, was anything but amused.

"You… Ron… lead… now!" she commanded the grandfatherly figure in front of her, and her tone brokered no argument on the matter. Senior Senior turned, and with a sigh of resignation, began to walk toward a corridor leading out from the far side of the room.

"Follow me." He instructed plaintively.

Kim simply stalked behind, stone silent and dead serious in her gate.

The pair passed down a seemingly endless labyrinth of passageways, hallways and corridors, twisting and turning their way through countless wings, annexes and atriums. The scale of the house was simply mind-boggling. But then again, so was the concept of being a "billionaire."

Then, just when it seemed that the house would go on forever, Kim's elderly escort stopped abruptly. As Kim stepped to his side, he thrust out his cane to indicate the door he was now facing.

"In there." He said matter-of-factly. "That is where your friend is."

"Okay," Kim replied sternly, a tone of pure venom seeping into her voice. "But if you or your nit-wit son have hurt so much as one hair on his head, then all the money in the world isn't going to save you from what I'll do to the both of you."

"That much is understood." Senior flatly agreed, and briskly punched a code into the security pad next to the door. Obediently, the door slid open with the obligatory "woosh" sound, and two jaws hit the well-polished floor at the sight that greeted them.

-------------------------------------------

"I mean it's not like I asked to be a billionaire's son or anything." 

"I hear ya', dude. I really do."

"It's just like, sometimes people see my father, and then they just expect me achieve the same level of success. But maybe I don't want to have that sort of success, you know?"

"I remember back when I was little. I wanted to be a fire truck when I grew up."

"Beg pardon?"

"Long story… long, painful story. Bygones."

"Yeeeeaah… I guess."

The conversation between them had by now taken on a life of its own, becoming in turn philosophical, introspective, insightful, and just plain weird. They were exploring deep into each other's personal stories, gaining insight and solidarity, and becoming so engrossed in the experience that they didn't even notice when the pneumatic doors sprung open to admit an additional to figures to the well-appointed room.

For Senior Senior and Kim, the sight of seeing their son and best friend respectively, sitting together with their arms around each others shoulders, clutching bottles of gourmet soda in their free hands, was almost beyond belief. The fact that they actually seemed to be having a pleasant conversation, went way beyond even "wrongsick" in both of their books.

"WHAT… IS… THE… SITCH?!" Kim exclaimed as she marched into the room, emerald eyes blazing with equal parts confusion and fury.

"KP!" Ron cried out, bolting up from his seat and knocking Junior over in the process. The self-absorbed super-villain hit the floor with one of his characteristic squeals.

"Don't 'KP' me, buster!" Kim shouted, thrusting a finger into Ron's face. "Just what in the cotton-pickin' heck are you doing fraternizing with one of our arch foes?"

"Oh, that?" Ron replied sheepishly, wilting slightly under his girlfriend's withering glare.

"That was just a little harmless guy talk. You know, once you get to know Junior, he's really not such a bad…"

"Junior!" Senior Senior Senior's booming voice suddenly cut off Ron's explanation. "I demand that you tell me the meaning of this."

"The meaning of what?" Junior asked plaintively, picking himself up off the floor. "Of the rec room? It's a place where we go to enjoy…"

"Not that, Junior! The meaning of socializing with our sworn enemy!"

"Oh, yes. Well, you may not believe it, but Mister Stoppable is actually rather insightful on a great many subjects."

"Yeah, and I realize that it's not really my place to say this," Ron interjected, "but you might wanna consider letting up on your son just a tad. When you get down to it, he's actually quite the…"

"Shut up, Mister Stoppable!" Senior barked.

"Hey! Don't you talk to him like that!" Kim shouted, turning her attention to the gray-haired villain.

"Yeah! Nobody tells me to shut up." Ron added, crossing his arms defiantly atop his chest.

"Shut up, Ron!" Kim growled.

"But… I… _awwwww."_

And so the verbal battle raged, with threats, stipulations, insinuations and statements flying in salvo form, well into the wee hours of the morning.

-------------------------------------------

"Kilo-Papa-Five-One-Five, you are cleared for takeoff on Runway Alfa-One-Niner."

"Roger that, Control One. We are in position and ready to advance throttle."

"Copy, Kilo-Papa. Good luck! Control One out."

"You ready for this, KP?" Ron asked, twisting around in his harness to look at the beautiful redhead seated directly behind him.

"Huh? Yeah, I guess." Kim replied tersely, a sour look still plastered across her face.

Ron sighed dejectedly, thinking about how she had been like this ever since leaving Senior Island for the return trip to Pisa. Now, having retrieved Sky Rat from its parking spot on the tarmac, they were ready for the final leg of their trip home, and to spite the anticipated heat of re-entry, Ron was anticipating a very chilly flight. He had to do something, anything, to bring her around.

"Oh c'mon, KP." He said pleadingly. "How much longer are you gonna hold this over my head?"

"Dunno. I'll have to get back to you on that."

_Okay, so that didn't do it._

"Well could you at least tell me how what I did was so bad?" he persisted.

He nudged the throttle forward, sending Sky Rat accelerating down the runway.

"Associating with known super-villains who we routinely bust?" Kim asked sarcastically as Ron eased the stick back into his lap, lifting the massive fighter off the concrete and into the sky. "Hmmmm… Let me count the ways."

"Hey! It's not like I gave them any ideas for a new 'take-over-the-world-scheme.'" Ron cried defensively. "I mean… Ya' know, _this_ time."

"Yeah, but still…"

"But what, KP? The simple fact is that Junior and I got sloshed on soda pop, had a pleasant conversation, and probably understand each other a little better now. I mean, hey… If we're really in the business of beating the bad guys, then isn't a great way of doing that to create understanding and common ground?"

"Ron! That's just… that's… just…"

"Just what, KP?"

"Just about the smartest thing you've ever said!"

"Well hey, I've always told you that I'm a late bloomer."

"No you haven't."

"Well, I've been thinking it pretty hard, anyways."

"Fair 'nuff." Kim relented, silently slipping out of her harness and leaning forward to snake her arms around Ron's shoulders.

The throttle nearly broke off in his hand as Kim placed her lips directly against his ear and whispered softly…

"And I _do_ so love it when you think."

**- END -**

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**Author's Notes:**

To be brutally honest, I have no idea what on earth possessed me to write this piece. It's just one of those stupid plot bunnies that latches onto your arm and leaves you with only two options for removal: Writing or amputation.

Since I don't fancy the idea of going through life with the nickname "Lefty," I started writing.

In any case, feel free to leave a review, be it good, bad or indifferent. I'm an equal opportunity author, after all. Hang in there, fight the good fight, and I'll see you all with my next posting, whenever that turns out to be.

Take care, now!

_Nutzkie…_


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